Chapter Text
Strawberry Crepe spends the rest of the day figuring out how to apologize to Espresso.
Now, they have never really had to apologize for anything in their life. Their only companions, up until Gingerbrave and his merry band of idiots steamrolled their way into the Vanilla Kingdom and into Strawberry Crepe's life, were the Wafflebots strewn about the laboratory. Their laboratory. They could basically program those things to do whatever they wanted, and it would take whatever they threw at them with minimal damage. Consequences? Mistakes? Not something someone as smart as Strawberry Crepe was capable of committing.
Now, however, there actually were consequences because they went and ran their mouth in front of Espresso, their lab partner. For once in their life, they actually feel guilty.
What's even worse is that Espresso seems to be avoiding them. Granted, Espresso does tend to be avoidant if he was working on a big project, but they knew that was not the case today. The air was tense when they left the lab that morning. Espresso didn't even meet their eyes as he cooked breakfast, let alone converse with them. He just placed a plate of neatly stacked pancakes in front of them, rubbed their hands on a nearby kitchen towel, and left.
Then, when Strawberry Crepe steps out of the laboratory to run their errands for the day, they find Espresso making his way to the harbor and to a Republic airship, a familiar fan-shaped insignia branded on the banner rolling down the side of its basket. It hits them all at once that—when Espresso wordlessly heads out on a venture on a Créme Republic ship—he was not going out on a business trip, like Strawberry Crepe had initially always assumed. He was visiting the in-laws of his dead lover.
A new pang of guilt washed over them at that revelation. They wordlessly watch the airship in the distance, becoming smaller and smaller as it flies out of the Vanilla Kingdom’s atmosphere. It almost drives Strawberry Crepe to the edge and almost makes them want to pull their hair out in frustration.
Their predicament had haunted their conscience so much that they completely spaced out in front of the fountain at the town square, with a box of baking ingredients under their arm for their cakeshop. As it was the afternoon and it passed by the busiest streets of the kingdom, passersby would give Strawberry Crepe a sideward glance before shuffling along—likely sensing that they were in a mood and that it was best to leave them alone. Good, they think petulantly, then they remembered that they were slipping into old habits that way.
“Dammit,” they murmur under their breath, staring at their own forlorn reflection against the water, “you're slipping.”
They fished out a gold coin out of their pocket, and flipped it into the fountain, for a stroke of luck or so they have something to do with their hands, they don’t really know. Heaving a deep sigh, they turn back to the stack of boxes they have to bring back to their cakeshop.
“Is something troubling you?” comes an all-too-familiar, soft voice from behind Strawberry Crepe, causing them to yelp loudly and drop a box right on their foot. They grab their foot in pain, accidentally bumping their back against the body of a concerned Pure Vanilla. “Oh dear, I apologize. I did not mean to startle you.”
“It’s… alright. I guess.” Strawberry Crepe says, bending down to pick up the bags of sugar that had fallen from the box they were carrying. Pure Vanilla follows suit, balancing himself on his staff as he, too, helps them rearrange their boxes. “And to answer your question, nothing is troubling me.”
Pure Vanilla pauses, lidded eyes on the ground. Strawberry Crepe gazes upwards, at the staff that they and everyone knows the healer uses for sight, and finds it squinting at him. They realize that—at that moment—the former king of the Vanilla Kingdom was studying them, trying to figure them out. It made them feel a little smaller, knowing that it wasn’t just any Ancient studying them—but Pure Vanilla—who has known them since their youth.
Pure Vanilla says nothing else, however. He just stands slowly, and offers Strawberry Crepe a hand. “I am tending to the sheep this afternoon. Would you like to join me?”
He's done this before—inviting them along on some seemingly unrelated task or adventure in some valiant effort to build rapport. Strawberry Crepe would, in the past, sneer and refuse; they didn't need advice for anything in their life, much less from the Ancient. Pure Vanilla, in the past, would only give them a pleasant smile.
Today was about breaking patterns, however, so Strawberry Crepe decides to take Pure Vanilla's hand and see where the day will take them.
🍓
Pure Vanilla takes them both further and further away from the city and toward the wide, open fields where the Vanillians tend to their crops and, in Pure Vanilla's case, the sheep.
Strawberry Crepe isn't out here much; in fact, they struggle to think of a time they ever stepped foot on here. They are always just stuck in their laboratory, only ever leaving to run errands, or find more Wafflebot scraps, or visit Gingerbrave's kingdom—whenever Espresso cares to or Gingerbave himself invites them.
While Vanillian mornings are chilly, especially in the fall seasons, the afternoons tend to be a bit warmer, and windier. The breeze courses past through they and Pure Vanilla, sending his long, blond locks billowing through the air. The ex-king pauses for a moment and inhales deeply, no doubt taking in the atmosphere. Strawberry Crepe just tucks their hands into their pockets, shifting uneasily, feeling out of place in the serenity Pure Vanilla is feeling right now.
Pure Vanilla, however, makes no comment on their fidgeting. He wordlessly opens the gate to a nearby pen and motions for Strawberry Crepe to follow. In an instant, dozens of fluffy, cotton-candy colored sheep surround them and Pure Vanilla, bumping against both of them, bleating loudly.
Strawberry Crepe hates when people or anything invades their personal space. Espresso was much the same way, and it was why they got along so well as lab partners—he respected their boundaries, and they respected his. At least, until today, they think forlornly.
So, having dozens of warm, fluffy sheep rubbing themselves against them in an effort to get to Pure Vanilla was driving them to sensory overload instead of blissful heaven. Their hands hover awkwardly above a sheep that seems to have taken quite a liking to them, refusing to join the rest of the flock surrounding Pure Vanilla.
“Come on,” Strawberry Crepe whispers, gently pushing against the sheep, and its mounds of fluff, towards the person who was actually interested in feeding it, “go to Pure Vanilla.”
The eye on Pure Vanilla's staff squints at them, and then widens. Pure Vanilla’s head raises ever so slightly, and they act as his smile drops in turn. He seems to have noticed their discomfort, so he leads the sheep a bit further away from them and from the gate. “You are welcome to stand outside the pen if you are uncomfortable.” He says, reaching into his robe to pull out a bag of grains.
Strawberry Crepe could not have been more ecstatic to get out of there. They jog towards the gate and out of the pen, then towards the area where Pure Vanilla was feeding the sheep. “Okay, so I'll wager you didn't ask me to come out here to help you run chores.”
“Sharp as always, my child.” Pure Vanilla says, with a lilt in his voice that indicates amusement. He turns to them and leans his staff against the fence, right next to Strawberry Crepe. An immense show of trust, Strawberry Crepe thinks, because I would have stolen that years ago.
“I figured something was troubling you, and you did not want to talk about it in such a public place–” Pure Vanilla raises his head in their general direction, his blue and gold eyes opening slightly as if to give them a pointed look, “–nor in the presence of Espresso.”
Strawberry Crepe’s head snaps away from the staff and towards Pure Vanilla. They scowl. “Why do you care?”
“I care about yours and Espresso’s wellbeing.” He replies curtly, petting the wool of one of the sheep next to him. “Espresso has dealt with this grief for many years. Aside from the Madeleine family, whom he seldom visits, he shares it with nobody.”
Their face softens, ever so slightly, and their grip on the fence loosens. They had only ever heard of or seen Madeleine in proximity to Espresso that they neglected to consider that he was a real person, with family who missed him as much as Espresso did. To Strawberry Crepe, Madeleine was a tale, a remnant of a memory—a ghost; one they could not see, but could feel only in the brief stories Espresso and the others would tell.
“I only ever met him once,” Strawberry Crepe says, “what happened?”
Pure Vanilla goes perfectly still. He slowly raises and straightens his posture, wringing his hands in such a way that Strawberry Crepe knew he was nervous. “You best ask Espresso that.”
Strawberry Crepe huffs in annoyance. They're getting tired of being kept in the dark about Espresso's whole backstory, especially since it seems like it's very relevant information for formulating a proper apology.
“I will say, they reminded me a lot of myself when I was younger.” Pure Vanilla says wistfully. The Ancient turns to Strawberry Crepe and gestures at two sheep in the farthest area of the pen. The sheep rub against each other, bleating, uncaring towards the bystanders standing mere feet away from them. “White Lily and I, well, there was not much between us and the world.”
Strawberry Crepe has heard of White Lily before, mainly through whispers during Espresso's war meetings many years; one of the Ancients, the holder of the Light of Freedom, the ‘good’ half of Dark Enchantress… and evidently, Pure Vanilla's once-close friend.
“Such connections are so precious, Strawberry Crepe—so precious, in fact, when it is gone, we find ourselves at a loss of where to go.” Pure Vanilla says, continuing to watch as the sheep cross the other side of the pen together. “We become blind to all else that is in the world.”
A pause. Then, Strawberry Crepe pipes up— “Okay, so what does that have to do with me?”
The Ancient seems to ignore the question. He merely grabs his staff and leaves the pen. As he does so, he turns to Strawberry Crepe. “You should not overthink something so simple. If you wish to apologize to Espresso about whatever it is you said, you should do it as sincerely as possible—he will understand.”
Pure Vanilla starts walking in the direction back to the Vanilla Kingdom. “Sometimes, we need a reminder that we are not alone in grief.”
And so, Strawberry Crepe stands in silence, having been left alone by the Ancient they thought would have given them the answer. They sigh and lean back against the fence.
It seems so straightforward, to everyone but them, apparently. Just walk up to Espresso, say “I'm sorry”, and they can go their own separate ways to do whatever work they need to do. Strawberry Crepe, however, has a notable history of fumbling what they say in favor of speaking the first thing that comes to mind, or because they can't read the room. They've been working on it, they swear, but they've never felt as guilty about running their mouth as now.
Disappointingly, they can't see how Pure Vanilla's advice is remotely helpful. Not alone in our grief? What does that even mean, when Strawberry Crepe barely knows Madeleine? How can you grieve for somebody you never even knew?
Strawberry Crepe groans and sinks to the floor, running their fingers down their face, not caring that their slacks are likely muddy now. To hell with clean laundry, not when Espresso normally did it himself. He isn’t even here. Just another task they can get their Wafflebots to do, probably, they think.
After a moment of wallowing in their predicament, Strawberry Crepe slides their hands away from their face—and spots a cloaked figure passing through the pens. They stop, staring up at the kingdom in the sky, almost pondering how they're supposed to get up there.
Odd. Any visitors to the Vanilla Kingdom arriving on foot would be taking the main trail, like Gingerbrave and his posse did, where Black Raisin would spot them and give them the run-through. The kingdom is already one of the westernmost kingdoms on Crispia, only being bordered by the Golden Cheese Kingdom— and this stranger was certainly overdressed and underpacked for the weather there, so no way they came from there on foot. Strawberry Crepe decides to approach, their stance tense to any movement from the stranger.
“Hey!” Strawberry Crepe yells, causing the hooded figure to jolt. “You lost?”
The stranger sharply turns to them — and bolts. “Hey!” Strawberry Crepe calls forward again, deciding to run after them.
Pure Vanilla and the Vanillians were always awfully lax to whoever came to the kingdom — neglecting that just a few years ago, the Vanilla Kingdom was in ruins. Black Raisin was the closest thing this kingdom had to a military, and even then, her crows weren't enough to keep track of everything. This stranger was shifty, suspicious, and possibly up to no good—this, Strawberry Crepe knows—what they did not, though, was how much of a runner this guy was.
The cloaked figure was too fast for Strawberry Crepe, who, admittedly, was not very fit — owing to years spent in their laboratory and having their Wafflebots do most of the physical labor needed in their line of work. They even nimbly dodge out of an oncoming tree that Strawberry Crepe almost collides with, nearly breaking their nose.
They weren’t going to catch this stranger at this rate, and they’ll have escaped into the forest. If they can’t outrun them, they’ll need to stop them dead in their tracks.
Strawberry Crepe screeches to a halt and wills their prosthetics to expand — metal against metal screeching against each other as they enlarge and take on their alternate form. Large, mechanical, strawberry-shaped hands shoot forward and grasp the figure, pinning them to the ground.
They sigh, finally, now that the chase is over. Strawberry Crepe approaches the figure once again, struggling against their grasp. “Seriously, do you know how shady you look right now? Who runs away from ‘are you lost' —”
What Strawberry Crepe sees stops them dead in their tracks. In their collision with the ground, the stranger's hood had fallen — revealing short, golden locks, and a piercing baby blue gaze. A wing-shaped headpiece, cracked and rusted, laid on his head. The face was scarred on the left side, with one eye clouded indicating they were blind in that eye, but Strawberry Crepe knows they have seen this face before.
They have seen it in the pictures in Espresso's bedroom, in his laboratory. They have seen it in his heart-shaped locket, which Espresso used to wear around his neck until he opted to keep it in his pocket. They have seen the face only once in-person—at a Halloween party, when they were young and reckless and more prone to insults, which resulted in a look of exasperation from Espresso and an explosive exit.
He was older, more weary, but they were sure of his identity.
“...Madeleine?”